


it's a journey

by abscission



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, M/M, Mentioned Hunk (Voltron), Mentioned Keith (Voltron), Mentioned Luka (Voltron), Mentioned Pidge | Katie Holt, Past Character Death, References to Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27197386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abscission/pseuds/abscission
Summary: Lance takes a drag on his cigarette, blows out the smoke. A cold breeze tugs down his hood and disperses the smoke. His damon grumbles a little, moves closer. Near the end, Shiro had picked up smoking. He favored menthol cigarettes, and it made his kisses minty.No harm if I’m already dying, says his ghost, smiling as he leans on the railings, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
Relationships: Lance/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20
Collections: Langst Halloween Exchange 2020





	it's a journey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Khellamendra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khellamendra/gifts).



> written for Langst Halloween Exchange 2020, but there's not a lot to do with halloween in this one, sorry ... It's a quiet piece, but the angst is heavy-hitting, so I hope you enjoy it, Khellamendra!

“You miss him too, huh?” Lance brushes a hand over the white rabbit perched on the railing beside him. His damon sighs and curls tighter into herself, fluffing up her fur so she goes from partially to fully resembling a puffball. Her ears are pressed close to her skull; she’s likely as caught up in old memories as Lance is, so he leaves her to it.

Today’s dawn is cold and bright.

A light pink blush dusts the horizon. Within half an hour it will dissipate into the grey winter sky. 

Lance takes a drag on his cigarette, blows out the smoke. A cold breeze tugs down his hood and disperses the smoke. His damon grumbles a little, moves closer. Near the end, Shiro had picked up smoking. He favored menthol cigarettes, and it made his kisses minty. _No harm if I’m already dying_ , says his ghost, smiling as he leans on the railings, his gaze fixed on the horizon. 

Shiro’s damon was a black cat, yellow-eyed and bushy-tailed, and she loved to walk on the railings whenever Shiro and Lance stopped by the roadside for breaks. When they stopped by this stretch of road two years ago, she had leapt onto the topmost bar and began strolling, tail held high and confident. Back then, Lance’s puffball of a damon had been too shy to join her and remained on the engine, where it was warm.

His bunny is still too shy to walk the railing as Black did, choosing instead to stay by Lance’s elbow— but rabbits didn’t have a great sense of balance in the first place, so this was her way of remembering the pair. Lance just rode the same route every year, as he is now.

The horizon is turning gold.

“C’mon, puffball.” Lance puts out his half-smoked cigarette on a travel ashtray then picks up the bunny. She runs up his arms and settles into the hood around his neck for the short walk back to his bike. Lance can hear her snuffling. When he gets onto his bike, she scrambles over his shoulder and settles into the little leather seat over the engine Hunk and Pidge had made her. They had made one for Black, too, but she wasn’t one for sitting still— Shiro had countless stories of her getting out of the seat to prowl across his shoulders during cross-country cruises. 

Nothing of the sort for Puffball. She keeps an eye on Lance’s gauges for him. 

The engine rumbles to life. Their next stop isn’t far.

*

Inside the diner, the air is dry and too-warm, the floor sticky. Lance smiles, remembering the face Shiro made when the soles of his riding shoes made squeaking sounds across the same floor.

The waitress behind the counter has pink hair. Her damon — a raccoon — is draped across her shoulders, snoring. She doesn’t look too awake, herself.

“One latte to go, please,” Lance says. His damon sighs in displeasure from her position in his hood and shuffles around, her soft ears tickling the base of his neck. Lance doesn’t let her dour mood get to him. She’s performative, like he is. 

The cashier blinks herself awake and grunts, punching something into the computer. Lance puts cash and a bag of greens over the counter. She grabs both with barely a glance, sorts it, returns the change, and then her raccoon wakes up with a huge, crackling yawn. It stretches, hitting her in the face with its paws as it does so, and the cashier girl mutters something dark under her breath. Without looking at Lance, she shuffles to the espresso machine.

Lance tears open the snack bag and sets it out for his rabbit, then puts his hands in his pockets, leans against the counter, and tilts his head back to stare unseeingly at the ceiling. Shiro would have something nice to say to the cashier girl. Heck, if it was any other time, or if Lance had came here with his other friends, he’d have something to say too. But today is Shiro’s anniversary, and Lance can’t stop imagining Shiro here with him.

Last year, when he geared up for the road-trip while Keith barricaded himself in his room, Hunk had stopped him in the driveway. “Look,” he’d said, arms folded across his chest defensively. “I don’t think running away is the best thing to do right now.” 

Last year, Lance had been angry. He’d been angry that whole year, at Adam, at Keith, at the hospital and the Garrison, at the world, for being so cruel and callous. That year’s road-trip had seen him collapsing into tears on the roadside too many times. The memories were too fresh, Shiro’s death too near, and the mixture of heavy, choking grief, guilty relief, remembered joy, and a petty vindication ( _he chose_ **me** ) that the journey dragged on. It had been a genuine attempt to process his grief, yes, but looking back on it, Lance suspects he just needed to cry somewhere his friends won’t see, won’t judge, won’t offer comfort. Not so much running away as another version of Keith’s barricade, but with distance instead of furniture. 

This year is a fresh start. 

“Your coffee,” drawls the cashier girl in a heavy accent. 

“Thanks,” Lance says brightly, turning. The coffee cup sits on the counter beside his rabbit, who sniffs it incuriously. He picks it up, scoops up his damon, and is about to go when the girl clears her throat awkwardly. 

Thinking that he’d forgotten something, Lance scans the counter. The bag of greens he set out for Puffball is empty, and he’d taken his change, so with a shrug, he grabs the empty plastic packet and shoves it into his pocket. Maybe she’s a stickler for trash. 

“Erm,” she says. “Have I seen you before, sir?”

Lance stops. Puffball sticks her head over his elbow. 

“It’s just,” says the girl, tugging on her hair nervously, “I’ve been working here a while, and that’s your bike, right, parked outside? Someone with a rabbit damon came in last year around this time too, with a blue bike, and that sort of stuff is— I mean, I could be wrong. God, I’m sorry, it’s probably someone else, I’m sorry for bothering you—” 

If her hair was green…   
“Huh,” Lance says. “Yeah, I passed through here last year.” Puffball starts gnawing on the inside of his elbow. With a grimace, Lance lets her onto his shoulder, where she burrows into his hood again. “You had green hair back then, right?” 

She grins sheepishly. “Yeah. If that was you, then, er, was it you two years ago as well, with someone else?” 

Puffball presses close to his neck. Lance blinks at the cashier girl. “Just how long have you worked here?”

“My family owns this place, so…” The girl sighs, and the raccoon puts his freaky little finger-paws on the counter and peers over the edge at Lance with liquid eyes. He stares at it. “Name’s Luka. We live above the shop.” She points at the door that leads to the back of the shop. “You… traveling for a reason?”

“Nah,” says Lance. “I just like road-trips a lot.”

“In winter?” Luka says, bemused.

Lance gives a half-shrug and swirls his coffee, smiling slightly. He’d asked Shiro the same thing, worried about his health. Shiro’s answer… He says it to Luka. “Clear skies, a good view, quiet roads.”

Luka hums, not convinced. She glances at the clock. “Well, thanks for the business. Should I expect you next year?” 

Lance thinks about it. “Yeah.”

Outside, the air is cold and fresh and nostalgic. Puffball pokes her head around his neck for a whiff of cream when he takes the lid off his coffee, and he holds it closer for her benefit. 

The road-trip he took with Shiro had been the last big thing Shiro did before he was confined to the home, and later, the hospital. He’d grown paler, sleepier, and as time passed, the only spot of color on the hospital bed was Black and her yellow eyes — ironically, Puffball blended perfectly into the sheets. On the trip last year, all Lance could think about was how unfair it was, that someone who loved open spaces and the horizon like Shiro had to spend his last days bed-ridden, and even resented himself a little bit for agreeing to go on the trip in the first place, to give Shiro that tantalizing glimpse of a life he couldn’t have.

Now, as he breathes in the scent of well-made coffee and a new day, he can understand why Shiro wanted one last trip. If Lance was to die in a few months, he’d want one last trip to the beach, too. One more swim, just one, a really good one with someone he loved, to form the golden memories he’d need to tide him through the hard days. 

The coffee steams. On the main road, cars pass, each one carrying its own story. Lance finds himself wondering what Luka thought of them, how he looks like from the outside. Does Shiro’s absence look like the terrible wound it feels like? 

It still hurts, the loss, two years on. 

“But we make do,” Lance says, to his puffball of a damon, who feels the same pain and the same joy and the same undercurrent of grief. If she’s fine, he’ll be fine. “We make do.” The rabbit nuzzles against his neck, offering comfort.

He takes a gulp of coffee, then puts it into the cupholder. Puffball jumps off his shoulder and into her seat. He turns the key in the ignition; the engine rumbles to life.

He gets on the road. 

**Author's Note:**

> the [inspiration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXNpm_RLCcg&ab_channel=MixAndMash).


End file.
